


For Want of Yeast

by squirenonny



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Nerdy ramblings about the importance of microorganisms, Set sometime nebulously after season 2 when Shiro's already been found, my love of bread is on full display here guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 10:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11621523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirenonny/pseuds/squirenonny
Summary: It figured when he finally found real, genuine, eat-it-with-butter bread, it would be at Vrepit Sal’s.Or,Hunk just wants to make everyone's favorite comfort foods, but they all seem to involve bread, and there's no yeast in outer space--except at Sal's.





	For Want of Yeast

**Author's Note:**

> For Andie, who requested Sal tasting one of Hunk's burgers.

Hunk spent a solid three months trying to make a passable burger for the other paladins. When he’d first started he’d thought (naively) that it wouldn’t be too hard. Ground meat grilled up in a patty with some assortment of condiments on a bun. Easy, right? It wasn’t like trying to recreate the perfect texture of ice cream or the heat of a good salsa. They’d found plenty of edible alien meats over the course of their travels, and the condiments all came down to experimentation.

The problem, he soon realized, was the bun.

Bread was hard to find in outer space. _Good_ bread, even harder. Most planets didn’t seem to have anything equivalent to yeast, for one thing, so while flatbreads and crackers and even something like tortillas were plentiful, real _bread_ was not.

And then there was the grain. Once he’d given up on _finding_ bread, Hunk had set out to _make_ it. He had a whole array of flours in his kitchen—this one with the right taste but far too coarse a texture, that one okay texture-wise but bitter. He’d made plenty of passable flatbreads, and once when he’d found something like baking soda he’d managed an imitation banana bread. But yeast breads? Sourdough? Out of the question.

It was amazing how many comfort foods you missed out on when you didn’t have access to Earth microorganisms. Grilled cheese, burgers, pizza. Hell, they didn’t even have yogurt they could trust not to make them all sick.

It figured when he finally found real, genuine, eat-it-with-butter bread, it would be at Vrepit Sal’s.

The paladins had returned to the space mall to resupply, and Hunk had only gone because, frankly, he didn’t trust Coran not to come back with three tons of inedible nutrient sludge. Pidge had happily volunteered to distract Coran with their tech needs, Shiro and Allura were on “miscellaneous necessities” duty, whatever that meant, and Lance was supposed to be helping Keith pick out the best lasers for Pidge’s new castle-defense plan. Hunk had a feeling they would return with the bare minimum of lasers and an overabundance of facial creams, sewing supplies, and assorted 80’s junk from the Earth Store.

Though, to be fair, most Lance’s haul would probably be less self-indulgent than Pidge and Coran’s.

The trip had started out okay enough, despite Hunk seriously considering heading back to watch the castle-ship with Kolivan and Slav. His head was constantly swiveling in search of the mall cop, Varkon, or anyone else who might recognize the “space pirates” from their last misadventure, and he avoided the foot court like the plague for as long as possible, but there was no way to get around the fact that that was where they were supposed to meet up.

Hunk was the first one there, of course. No one expected Keith to be able to drag Lance away from his fun, and Pidge and Coran, together, were the worst sort of enablers. But he’d expected Shiro and Allura to be on time, at least.

He found an empty table on the far side of the food court from Vrepit Sal’s and sat down with his purchases, but the pillars and fake plants hiding him from Sal got in the way of his search for his friends. After five minutes, he sighed, grabbed his bags, and cautiously made his way into the open.

That was when he saw them: a dozen beautiful, flawlessly golden buns. Hunk watched between the leaves of a hot pink shrub as Sal called out orders to his assistant—not the old lady from last time, but a lavender Bytor whose eight arms were tending four skillets and a saucepan simultaneously. They actually looked like a proper kitchen staff, and the line of customers said that at least some of Hunk’s instructions had stuck.

And, okay. Hunk had to be a little bit proud of that, despite the simmer of resentment he felt at the sight of the guy who’d literally tried to kidnap him.

The question was how to sneak a taste of those roles without letting Sal know he was there. Maybe once Allura got back, he could convince her to go Galra and buy a few. Shiro would be on Hunk’s side, probably. He’d once said he’d trade his right arm for a dinner roll—and, yeah, it had been with the same wry smile he always wore when his dark humor reared its head, and, _yeah_ , he’d laughed it off afterwards, always quick to assure Hunk that whatever he was cooking sounded perfect.

But Hunk could hardly forget that that was the one and only time Shiro had ever actually expressed a preference for any particular food. Nor could he ignore that Shiro was particularly quick to devour any kind of carb Hunk set before him—flatbread, pasta, the lumpy orangish tuber they’d dubbed space potatoes.

It would be better if Hunk could surprise him with the bread, but he’d rather ask for help then end up chained to a stove for the rest of his life.

He shifted to get a better view of the restaurant, but his bags slipped, disturbing the shrub he was hiding behind. Hunk froze as Sal’s gaze swept toward him, shooting a plea toward every corner of the universe that Sal wouldn’t spot him.

No such luck.

Hunk yelped as Sal’s eyes widened. Then, as Sal turned to bark something at his line cook, Hunk snatched up his bags and made a break for it. A harried alien surrounded by half a dozen kids stepped into his path at just the wrong moment, and Hunk spun, wishing he’d come in his armor, incognito be damned, just so he’d have something more than a grayish sausage link to brandish in Sal’s direction.

“Stay back!” Hunk called, fumbling with the rest of his bags. “I’m armed.”

Sal stopped, holding up his hands, and Hunk would have laughed at the scene if he weren’t already playing out a lifetime of serving mediocre food under the watchful eye of the Worst Cook in America while Zarkon’s Number One Fan patrolled, muttering to himself about nabbing that pesky pirate just as soon as he had his proof.

“Hunk!” Sal cried, beaming. “Vrekt, kid, it really is you! How’ve you been?”

The greeting—twice as friendly as Hunk had been expecting and at least three times as familiar—caught him off guard, and he slowly lowered his sausage sword. “Uh… fine…?”

Laughing in delight, Sal reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. Hunk yelped, nearly dropping the sausage, and frowned.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Okay? I’m a lot better than okay! The way this place has turned around since you were here? You’re a real life-saver, kid, you know that?”

Hunk only blinked. Quite suddenly, he found himself being steered back toward Vrepit Sal’s, his babbled protests handily ignored. Hunk could already feel the manacle snapping shut around his ankle.

“And _this_ ,” Sal said, blissfully ignorant of the freight train of fear careening through Hunk’s head, “is Luks.”

The Bytor wiped one hand on the towel at their waist and held it out for Hunk to shake while the other seven kept at their tasks: washing vegetables, chopping tubers, searing meat.

“Wow,” Hunk said, shaking Luks’ hand. “You’re… you’re pretty good at that.”

Luks fluffed their tail—legitimately fluffed it, like a frickin’ bird fluffing its feathers—and muttered a quiet thank-you as Sal bundled Hunk off for a tour of the stockroom. Gone were the tubs upon tubs of mush and the freezer-burned odds and ends. This new stock room almost rivaled Hunk’s setup on the castle-ship.

Hunk whistled. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit it. I’m impressed.”

Sal beamed. “It’s all thanks to you, kid. And I mean that. You wanna stick around a while? I’ve been trying to expand the menu, you know. I could use your advice.”

“I don’t know, Sal. My friends...” Hunk trailed off as his eyes fell on several more crates’ worth of bread. “Sorry. Is that bread?”

Sal’s ears swiveled, and he followed Hunk’s gaze to the crates. “Bread?” he said slowly, as though he’d never heard the word before. “They’re called food sponges. I give ‘em out with the special. Good for soaking up the extra sauce, you know?”

“Could I…?”

Hunk barely waited for Sal’s nod before he snatched up one of the buns and lifted it to his ear. It crackled when he squeezed, and it smelled enough like bakeries back home to make Hunk’s mouth water. There was no reason for his heart to be beating against his ribs as he tore off a small piece and popped it in his mouth, nor for his knees to go weak when the bun tasted wonderfully, flawlessly like he’d hoped it would.

“Oh my god,” Hunk moaned. “Where did you _get_ this?”

“Uh… I dunno. My guy bought it off some deep space trader. Never seen anything like it.”

Hunk resisted the urge to scarf down the rest of the bun, his head already spinning with plans for that night’s dinner. Grilled cheese for Pidge, burgers for Lance and Keith, garlic bread and French toast and stuffing and fondue and anything else Shiro could possibly hope for.

“How much?” Hunk demanded, reaching for the credit disc Allura had given him and performing some quick mental math to figure out how much money he had left. Two thousand GAC at the butchers, another fifteen hundred on spices and other kitchen staples…

Hunk grimaced.

“Okay, forget GAC. Would you be willing to part with one of these crates if I showed you another use for these, uh, food sponges?”

Sal seemed confused, but he nodded. “Heck, after last time I’d give you just about anything, but if you don’t mind teaching me a new recipe...”

Hunk grinned. “Awesome. You’re gonna want to take notes on this one, Sal. It’ll revolutionize this food court—mark my words!”

* * *

Sal was clearly skeptical of Hunk’s claim—even more so when Hunk selected only a single pan and a spatula. He found some ground meat from the cooler that he recognized as lenna. It tasted a little gamy—more like venison than beef, but wonderfully juicy. It cooked up into a nice patty with just a little bit of salt for seasoning. (Salt was a nearly universal constant, a fact Hunk had learned early on and for which he was still eternally grateful.)

The restaurant was a little thin on condiments, so Hunk went for a minimalist approach, topping the burger with a sharp, cheddar-like cheese, something like mild barbecue sauce, and a leafy vegetable with a taste unlike any Earth food.

He presented the burger to Sal on a freshly sliced space bun, then crossed his arms and sat back for the show. Sal picked it up, considered it for a long moment, then took a bite.

Almost at once, his eyes lit up, and Hunk bit back a laugh as Sal took a second bite almost before he’d swallowed the first. He hollered to Luks and offered them a taste, and then the people at the front of the line were tripping over each other to get a look at the new dish the cooks were so clearly excited about.

Grinning, Hunk clapped Sal on the shoulder. “Well. I think I’ll leave you to your customers.”

Sal was already snatching up ingredients to demonstrate for Luks, but he spared a wave over his shoulder. “Thanks a million, Hunk! You really are a genius.”

Flushing, Hunk turned and headed for the door, a box of buns under one arm, bags dangling from the other. He was barely out the door when he caught sight of a familiar Segway cruising through the crowd.

With a yelp, he dove back into the kitchen. Sal frowned at him, mouth open to ask why Hunk was huddled under the counter like a spooked cat, when Varkon rolled up.

“Security,” Varkon barked. “Clear the way. You!”

Hunk cringed, catching Sal’s eyes as he turned away from the grill. “There a problem, officer?”

“News bulletin,” Varkon said. “Straight from high command. Priority one. The paladins of Voltron have been spotted in the area.” Hunk’s heart dropped as the cold blue glow of a holoscreen washed over Sal’s face. From his hiding place, Hunk couldn’t see the image, but he had a front row seat to the shock and recognition in Sal’s eyes.

Hunk _really_ should have worn his armor. He gave the buns a longing look as he set the crate aside; it was too big, too bulky, and he’d need at least one hand free to push through the crowd.

Then he closed his eyes and got ready to run.

“Haven’t seen ‘em.”

Hunk jumped, biting down on his tongue to keep from gasping aloud, and stared up at Sal. The shock was gone, replaced with bored disinterest. He crossed his arms as Varkon scrutinized him in silence.

“You sure about that?”

Sal snorted. “Course I am. What species is that, anyway? I think I’da noticed if something that funny-looking walked up to my counter.”

Cursing under his breath, Varkon revved his engine. “Curse those paladins. You keep your eyes open, you hear? Let me know if you see them.”

“Right away,” Sal promised dryly. He watched for a long moment, unmoving until Hunk made a break for the door. Sal caught his wrist, holding him in place. “Give it a minute. I’ll tell you when the coast is clear.”

Hunk gaped up at him, but didn’t dare speak. It was a miracle none of the customers had sold him out. Though… none of them were Galra, as far as he’d seen. Just Varkon and Sal and a couple other shop owners. Huh. Hunk had never really stopped to consider the implications of that before.

Sal whipped up a few more plates, never once glancing at Hunk, then shrugged out of his apron and let Luks know he was taking a break. As he headed for the door, he gestured under the counter for Hunk to follow.

“You helped me,” Hunk said, slipping out the employee entrance behind Sal, holding tight to his box of buns. “Why?”

Sal tipped his head to the side. “You know why I named this place Vrepit Sal’s?”

“Uh.” Hunk frowned. “That’s Zarkon’s motto or something, isn’t it? Vrepit sa?”

With a shake of his head, Sal chuckled. “ _Zarkon’s_ motto. Kid, that’s a Galra saying, and a lot of us don’t like what Zarkon’s turned it into. You know what it means?”

“No,” Hunk said. “I don’t.”

“It means making yourself better, all the time, every day. It means not settling for something just because it’s always been that way. Which is ironic, because that’s exactly what I was doing—settling. I’d stopped trying before I met you. Why put the effort into something no one’s interested in anyway, right? I mean, who ever heard of a Galra chef?”

Hunk glanced over his shoulder, scanning the crowd for Varkon. And for his friends—they had to have finished by now. What if Varkon had found them? “You saved me because I taught you to cook?”

“I saved you cause you taught me to _care._ You ain’t like most people ‘round here. I figure if those other paladins are anything like you, then maybe I don’t _want_ Zarkon to find you. Maybe I want you out there shaking things up.” He paused, then smiled. “I guess what I’m saying is… vrepit sa, paladin Hunk.”

The smile caught Hunk off guard, and he had to choke back tears as he shook Sal’s outstretched hand, albeit clumsily. “Vrepit sa, Sal. I’ll try to come visit you sometime, okay?”

Sal’s face softened. “I’d like that. Take care of yourself, you hear?”

Hunk nodded, hoisted the groceries, and backed away. He felt like he should say something, but he couldn’t find the words. Sal smiled knowingly, inclined his head, then turned and vanished into the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find out about requests on my Tumblr!](http://squirenonny.tumblr.com/private/163352586149/tumblr_otkspepIrB1ttvln6)


End file.
